Michael took one step.
It was slow. Very slow.
But the step crushed the air beneath his foot. A visible shockwave rolled out, distorting the sky in a widening ring.
Michael lifted his arm.
His fist was the size of a boulder now.
The gray-robed man's Withering Law surged to meet it, eager and starving, trying to drain him down to bone and dust. But like before, though the pain hurt, it only strengthened Michael.
Michael swung.
The punch was not fast, but the gray-robed man did not dare to block.
He could not risk it.
He twisted sideways and threw distance between them in the same motion, his domain rippling as he used it like a wall to push Michael's strike off course.
The fist missed by meters.
And still, the shockwave tore through the air and shattered a band of dead space behind him, leaving a ragged hole where his Withering had been thickest.
The gray-robed man's eyes widened.
He retreated again.
He kept moving, refusing to let the giant close.
